


Where I Shouldn't Go

by WrittenInLace



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, New Vegas, OTP Feels, Season 2, Slow Burn, Willoughby - Freeform, charloe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-05 14:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10310195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrittenInLace/pseuds/WrittenInLace
Summary: My version of Season 2.Charlie goes after Bass in New Vegas, but can't seem to pull the trigger. How will their relationship evolve as they travel to Willoughby and fight the Patriots as a team? Can Charlie ever forgive Bass and let go of the past? Will Bass ever acknowledge how he actually feels about her?





	1. Chapter 1

The air was thick with an overwhelming smell of sweat and tobacco. Charlie fought back the bile that rose to her throat at the growing stench. The surrounding darkness was slowly being chased away by the countless torches lighting the lawless town of New Vegas. She had lost count of the miles, the days she had traveled across the miserable territory of the Plains Nation. Her entire body ached with weariness and her feet throbbed relentlessly. The growing glow of firelight only served to irritate her dry eyes and worsen the pounding in her temples. She shoved the discomfort to the back of her mind and pressed on as she passed through the entryway, the overhead cloth banner flapping wildly in the wind. Her eyes danced over the various prostitutes, drunks, gamblers, and so called entertainers calling out for a precious coin. She tensed at the countless eyes she felt ogling and mentally undressing her, as if there weren’t a parade of scantily clad women eager and willing to take their diamonds for an hour of pleasure. Her knuckles whitened instinctively around the hilt of her knife, preparing for one of the idiots to make an unwanted move. She blended into the crowds, glancing into the makeshift casinos, theaters, and brothels she past. 

After receiving the unexpected tip from the attractive bartender, Charlie had quickly ditched him and head south to this Godforsaken wasteland. Monroe was supposedly holed up down here under an assumed name. Jack? Jake? The bartender had quickly lost his usefulness and she left him without so much as another word. So now she was here, in the made up town of New Vegas of all places, desperately searching for the infamous General Sebastian Monroe. Holding onto her hatred and anger as her source of strength, she continued on, deeper into the heart of this cesspool.

Her interest piqued at the growing sound of a rowdy crowd to her left. She followed the crude shouting to a large tent filled to the brim with onlookers. Based on the sound of bone crashing against bone and loud guttural gasps, she assumed the gawkers were there to watch a brawl. Not exactly an uncommon pastime in this hideous world. Slipping her slim frame between the men and women alike, she pressed toward the center of the tent, closer to the sound of painful slams of fists on skin. Breaching nearly the last perimeter of the audience, she caught a glimpse of one of the fighters: a tall stranger with a body built for fighting. Blood poured from his lips and nostrils and he growled. She heard the impact of his fist against an unseen fighter as he lurched forward out of her sight. The crowd roared with a mixture of excitement and anger. Charlie stepped closer in attempt to put the fighters back into her line of sight. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of a man on his knees before the balding attacker. The Goliath of a man raised his arm to swing what was assumed to be the final blow at the kneeling man’s face only to be left stumbling after he failed to make contact. His opponent had rolled out of his reach at the last second before springing to his feet and thrusting his fist deep into the staggering man’s left kidney. The taller of the two instantly hit the dirt floor, his face contorting with anguish. The fighter left standing ran his fingers through his curls and wiped the blood out from under his nose as he waited for his fallen opponent to rise. The bared muscles of his torso tensing with anticipation of a surprise attack.

He was so different from the last time she saw him. His hair and beard had grown quite a bit; instead of his impeccable militia attire, he was now clothed in only tattered jeans and old, mismatched boots. But something else was different. Something she sensed more than saw. She squinted her eyes, attempting to put a finger on the oddity, but came up empty and confused. He still wore that steely expression, his body still radiated with barely contained strength. His right eye still had that almost unnoticeable twitch when he was intently focused, as he was now.

Charlie Matheson had only come face to face with the great General Monroe a couple times over the past year, each time under traumatic circumstances. But despite having a firearm aimed at her both times, she could not deny how his presence had affected her. It was an infuriating, confusing reaction that she seemed to have zero control over. Standing in this filth ridden tent, it would appear that her body was determined to continue betraying her. Betraying the memories of her slain father and brother. The way her stomach spun and knotted, how her entire body felt as if it was mere seconds from bursting into flames, the way her tongue instinctively darted out to wet her lips, her racing heart, her shallow breaths: they were all betrayals her own body insisted on committing against her. She considered it the ultimate form of treason and it infuriated her. The first time it had happened, down in that Philadelphia bunker, she had told herself that it was pure hatred and fear running through her veins, but she knew she was lying to herself. Why was it, that after all her years on this hellhole of a planet, the only person to ever set all of her senses aflame was Sebastian Monroe? Not a single one of the men that she had used and thrown away while out on the road had ever come close to making her body respond the way Monroe could just by looking at her. She had been lucky enough to avoid his gaze in the fight tent so far by repeatedly ducking behind other onlookers in front of her. She knew any chance she had of achieving her goal would vanish the moment they locked eyes. Not only would he recognize her, taking away the element of surprise, but he would do that thing only he could do. She was completely clueless as to how, or even what he was doing, but no one had ever looked at her the way Monroe did. It wasn’t a simple acknowledgement of her presence, or even a look of perverted lust that she was all too familiar with. When Monroe locked eyes with Charlie, it almost looked as if he was in awe of her, which confused her to no end and only served to intensify her body’s reaction to him. She was now in New Vegas to put an end to it. She could not, would not, ache for a dead man. The pain over the loss of her brother and the inner torment and guilt at her body’s betrayal when she looked at Monroe could be rectified with one squeeze of the trigger.

She mentally begged her heartbeat to return to normal as she continued to watch Monroe. The crowd seemed to being growing agitated at lengthening pause in the fight. Monroe’s opponent had lifted his face out of the dirt and held himself up on his hands and knees, but stayed in that position, unmoving. Something shifted in Monroe’s eyes, saying he was ready to be done with this fight. He gripped the kneeling man’s shoulder tight and raised him off his hands. Before he had a chance to blink, Monroe’s fist connected with the man’s jaw sending him flying across the small open space designated for the fight. The tall fighter was out cold. The noise in the tent intensified beyond what Charlie thought possible. Angry curses from those who had lost their diamonds on the knocked-out fighter and unchecked shouts of joy and praise from the ones who had placed their bets in favor of-

“JIMMY KING, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” A short man with a bulging waistline shouted from the center of the tent. “For those of you looking to earn back your losses, our favorite King will be back again tomorrow night!”

The fat man’s booming voice had distracted charlie for only an instant, but when she looked back to where  _ Jimmy King  _ had been, he was gone. Panic surged through her as she did a quick 360 of the tent, her eyes catching a glimpse of those curls that were all too familiar. Dodging random drunken hands that reached out to grope her, Charlie moved swiftly to follow Monroe as he ducked out of the tent. She was more than a little surprised that he wasn’t the type to stay a while and soak up the glory from his win. Instead he removed himself as quickly as possible without so much as a word to anyone.

Charlie breathed deep once she exited the stifling heat of the tent. The air was still sour and musty, but it was better than it had been in that crowd. Moving slowly, staying far enough away that Monroe wouldn’t sense her, but never letting him out of her sight, she followed him to another, much larger tent. A blonde prostitute, who stood waiting at the entrance, handed Monroe a shirt. He quickly slipped it on before walking into the tent. The prostitute chasing after him looked just a little put out that he had simply walked away without a word. Charlie waited for a few moments before entering behind a large burly man, praying she wouldn’t be spotted. Letting her eyes adjust to the brightness she found in the tent, Charlie found herself in a casino. Well, what a post-blackout world passed off as a casino. She had never had the time, nor interest, in the few casinos she had seen during her travels, so she wasn’t sure what any of the games were called, just that they were meant to take what little money she had. Attempting to tune out the distractions of loud, boisterous laughter to her right and the angry curses of a man with bad luck to her left, she slowly scanned the tent in search of him. On the other side of the tent, standing next to a spinning table, was the man who sent shivers down her spine. 

Charlie squeezed her eyes shut tight, cursing the lack of control she had over her own damn body. Swallowing the lump that had suddenly found its way to her throat, Charlie went back to quietly observing her mark. She watched the whore clinging to his arm with a look of desperation in her eyes as Monroe all but ignored her.

A short man with dark hair appeared next to her, “Saw you in the fight tent. You like fights, sweetheart?” Charlie continued to watch Monroe without so much as a glance to the man standing beside her. He’d catch on eventually and give up. The man followed her line of sight to see what she so intently interested in. “You like Jimmy, huh?” Charlie tensed, unsure where he was going with this. “You know, if you wanna bet on him, I run the books around here.”

Charlie fought to keep calm as an idea sparked inside her. “That right?” she asked, finally sparing the young man a casual glance. She silently pulled out her diamond pouch at the man’s nod and poured five tiny jewels into his waiting hand.

The bookie couldn’t hold in his surprise at Charlie’s eagerness. “Sorry, darlin’, but Jimmy doesn’t have another fight tonight. I can put you on the book for tomorrow though.”

Charlie gave him her best attempt at a flirtatious grin and moved in closer, whispering in his ear “it’s not a bet.” Looking into his eyes, she saw the moment the metaphorical light bulb went off in his mind.

“Well alright then,” he nodded his head in appreciation, “30 minutes. Meet him in Louis’ Bar next door. And, if I may, Jimmy is one lucky man.”

Charlie had to hold back the grin trying to sneak across her lips. The poor fool didn’t realize he had just handed his best money maker to his death. “30 minutes,” Charlie agreed and watched as the man walked out the rear exit of the tent, following after Monroe, who had left only moments before. She stayed far back, but followed the man. She intended to strike when Monroe was out in the open and from a distance, not giving him a chance to respond or set those eyes of his on her before her arrow put an end to his misery.

Out of the casino, Charlie had lost sight of Monroe, but continued to silently follow the bookie for a quarter mile to a field of housing tents and few scattered pre-blackout trailers. As he disappeared into a blue trailer, Charlie let out a curse. She had placed too much blind hope in a stranger. There was no way of knowing if Monroe would come out of that trailer, or  if he was even there. Quickly assessing the few options she had left herself, she settled on hiding off the quarter mile stretch between the nightlife and the established camp. From her vantage point, it was the only route. Eventually she would lay eyes on Monroe or she’d grab the bookie on his way back in.

Setting herself up behind a rotting fence post, Charlie tried to steel herself for what she was about to do. She closed her eyes, attempting to slow her heart racing, but the bastard’s face immediately appeared in her mind. Those blue eyes that stirred her, the scruff of his jaw line, those lips... Charlie’s eyes shot open wide, forcing his image and the persistent feeling it brought away. “Focus, Charlotte,” She whispered to herself only to roll her eyes at her stupidity.  _ Sure, use your given name, which no one else in this world uses besides Monroe. That’ll help.  _ She could feel her anger rise, only it was directed at the wrong person. She needed to focus.  _ Kill him and this ends. By next sunrise, this will all be over. _ Charlie settled herself into the soft grass and tried to clear her mind. Her only job now was to wait.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been six months. Six months since the country he had built was wiped off the map for good. But six months later, he still felt the pain twisting in his gut as if it had happened yesterday. The guilt was enough to leave him curled in the fetal position praying for the release only death could bring. Not a day had passed in those six month where he hadn’t longed, prayed, dreamed of going back in time and undoing his mess. “Mess.” The term seemed like the biggest understatement ever. His actions had cost countless lives and no amount of repentance or self-loathing could undo that.  

Sebastian Monroe sat alone in his beat up trailer just outside of New Vegas. Slowly swirling the brown liquid around in his glass, lost in his thoughts. He wanted to go back. He wanted a do-over. He swallowed back the tears that threatened to spill over just like every other night. The truth that stung the most was that even if he was able to do it over, June 18th 2014 would still exist. The date on the calendar that broke the man he had once been. The day that still haunted his dreams. If he went back in time, how would he prevent that day? He couldn’t.

“He just snapped.” It’s a phrase we’ve all heard, but it’s whole different story to actually be the one who “snapped”. Bass had “snapped” on June 18th 2014 after he had lost everything that mattered most in his life. Well, everything besides Miles. He had craved death so desperately in those days. His conscience was all but dead as he tore the North East apart, creating his own republic. He assumed if he kept himself amidst a fight, a war, sooner or later someone would best him with a gun or sword and his pain would finally come to an end. But sadly, that day never came. Once or twice, he didn’t give a fight his all, trying to make it easier for his opponent, but Miles always swooped in at the last second, saving him again and again. As the Republic grew, Monroe had hoped it would be for the better, but it seemed like every time he turned around he made another wrong choice. Years past and his heart grew hard at everyone constant disapproval. He unintentionally built the Monroe Republic on a foundation of his pain and was left sitting in the driver’s seat completely clueless. So he did the only thing he knew how to do: fight. Fight Georgia, fight Texas, fight stubborn cadets, fight insubordination, fight resistant civilians, fight everyone until he could learn how to fight his own demons and misery. 14 years later and he was still working on that.

After the nukes had destroyed Philly and Georgia, news spread like wildfire. It couldn’t have been a week before he overheard that the evil Sebastian Monroe had bombed the entire eastern border. The whole continent was out for his blood, even if it was for the one thing he actually didn’t do.

A few nights later, he had sat alone by a campfire staring at his pistol, wondering if it would be the night he finally ended it all. The thought had crossed his mind thousands of times over the years, but he could never pull the trigger. It wasn’t in his nature. In the deepest part of his foundation, Sebastian Monroe was a fighter. That obviously wasn’t always a good thing, but it did keep him from ever pulling the trigger on himself, no matter how badly he had wanted to. He had set his pistol aside before laying his widest hunting knife in the flames until it glowed with heat. With his leather belt clenched between his teeth, he laid the width of the scorching blade across his forearm, forever removing his tattoo.

As he sat in his trailer, he mindlessly traced the missing “M” over the scarred tissue. He missed his brother more than he would ever be able to say. He wanted to find him and beg his forgiveness. Forgiveness for the Republic, for Rachel and Ben, for Nora, for Danny, for...

Bass groaned and poured himself another glass of whiskey.  _ Not tonight _ , he told himself. He couldn’t let his mind go there tonight. Not to her. Not again. She could haunt his sleep; he didn’t have much say over that. But he would guzzle every bottle of liquor he had stashed in this trailer till he lost consciousness before he let his mind focus on Charlotte Matheson. He wouldn’t focus on her shockingly blue eye that never flinched in fear, even when she looked death in the face. He wouldn’t focus on the way her lips puckered as she blew out a breath of determination. He wouldn’t focus on how her nostrils flared in anger every time she looked at him. He wouldn’t focus on how he felt like he was drowning every time their eyes locked and the only way to get oxygen back to his lungs was to tear his eyes away.

_ Damn it! _ Another glass. And then another. He had met the girl a total of two times and yet she tormented him day and night. Always sneaking into his thoughts at the worst possible moments. He lost count of how many drinks he had had as he finished off another glass. Sulking on the torn up couch he had found, he dropped the glass and took a swig of the burning liquid straight from the bottle. If he couldn’t get her off his mind he would race to meet her in his dreams, where at least she felt real, even if only for a moment.

An unexpected knock at his door had his pausing mid-sip. He rolled his eyes in frustration. He had told the prostitute under no uncertain terms that he wanted to be alone. Tonight he only craved the company of a bottle and the sweet oblivion it would eventually bring. The knock got a little louder as he sat in silence, praying the nuisance would get the hint. After the fifth knock, Bass realized that wouldn’t be the case. “What?” He hollered from his spot on the couch, refusing to budge.

“Jimmy,” Tony’s grating voice carried through the trailer door. “Got a girl waiting at Louis’ that wants to meet you.”

“Not tonight,” was Monroe’s only response as he closed his eyes and rested his head against the couch cushions.

Bass face tightened in frustration as he heard his door swing open. “Trust me, brother, you’re gonna wanna meet this one.” Tony said as he leaned against the now open door frame.

Monroe glared in his direction and forcefully bit his tongue to keep from lashing out at the smaller man’s use of the word “Brother”. That word was sacred and reserved for only one person.  _ Miles. _ Bass closed his eyes, pushing away the pain that crept up on him. “Fine,” he responded gruffly. He could use a distraction. Plus, Louis always gave him a good deal on the best whiskey. He slowly stood up and stretched the achy muscles that came with his job title. Tony silently took his leave as Bass grabbed his dark button down and slipped his arms in.

He stepped onto the soft grass, slamming his trailer door shut behind him. The air, which was nearly stifling hot, felt cool and refreshing against the burn that flowed through his veins. He began his short walk to the bar, mentally promising himself no more than an hour. Whiskey and a pretty girl could only hold his attention for so long. He wanted to go to bed and pray for peaceful dreams.

The butt of the gun came out of nowhere. Well that isn’t necessarily true, it came from behind. But one moment he was looking at the nearing firelight of the New Vegas tents and the next everything was black. No sight, no noise, no dreams. Just black.

* * *

It completely bewildered Charlie how her insides could be so loud, yet she was sitting dead still without making a single noise. The moment she laid eyes on him as he walked the path back to the New Vegas nightlife her heart went absolutely berserk. She felt her entire body shake, but when she looked at her hands, they were perfectly steady. She forced her breath to even out and raised her crossbow, placing Sebastian Monroe in her sights. As the moment approached, she found herself unable to move. She couldn’t even bend her trigger finger. A war waged within herself over the life of Monroe. But obviously her muscles chose to let the monster live. She dropped the crossbow in her lap and gasped as quiet sobs shook her frame. This was the moment she had been waiting for. The goal that had kept her alive and kicking across Texas, The Wastelands, and Plains Nation for the past six months. The reason she got up every morning and pressed on. It was finally here and she couldn’t do it. Self-hate and fury flamed within her. She bit down hard on her lip, partly in anger and partly to keep from crying out. She closed her eyes and gave into the tears sliding down her cheeks.

A large thud and simultaneous crack brought Charlie’s eyes back to Monroe’s location. She watched as two men hauled what appeared to be an unconscious Monroe up from the grass and dragged him a short distance to a waiting wagon. Her jaw dropped in confusion as the men locked him into what looked like a prisoner’s cell at the rear of the wagon. _What is happening,_ she asked herself. As the wagon lurched forward and headed off onto a nonexistent road, Charlie took off after them. She didn’t have a plan or a goal. She tried to tell herself that she would follow him and finally pull the trigger, but that didn’t sound convincing even in her own mind. But for some unknown reason, she raced after the them. She knew she would never be able to keep up with a horse drawn wagon, but she would follow until she lost sight of it then fall back on her tracking skills. The recent rains left the ground soft and impressionable. Tracking that wagon was the least of her concerns. The problem was what she would do once she found it.


	3. Chapter 3

Monroe slowly blinked, trying to push away the blackness that had taken him captive. He cautiously shook his head from side to side in attempt to wake himself up, but the movement sent dizziness and sharp pain shooting through him. He begrudgingly had to admit that whoever had knocked him out had done an impressive job. The last time a blow had affected him this strongly was after an argument with Miles had escalated just a little too far. A small smile formed on Bass’ lips at the memory. He couldn’t even remember what had started the fight, but the next morning both he and Miles were torn to shreds and disoriented. They had spent that next day bandaging up their wounds and laughing at each other. He missed those days.

Taking a deep breath, Bass forced his eyes fully open and waited for them to adjust to the moonlight. He needed to figure out where he was and how to get out of this situation. Fast. Shades of blue began to breakthrough his vision as he made out the empty swimming pool. _Interesting choice_ , he thought. Attempting to pull his arms forward, he found his wrist bound behind his back by what he assumed was rope. Glancing down, he saw the rope was also wrapped around his waist, anchoring his body the edge of the pool.

Allowing the moon to illuminate the pool, Bass was able to make out an old truck tire at his feet, the now useless diving board perched to his left, and the step-ladder just above his head. _Nope. Nothing helpful._ Across from him, he notice decorative tiles scattered about halfway up the sides of the pool. Countless were missing from the original design, but if was lucky, perhaps there were still one attached to the wall near him. Pressing himself up against the wall, he spread his fingers out to feel for a tile. _Wall. Wall. More Wall... yes!_ Bending his knees slightly, Monroe finally felt a piece of tile and went to work.

 

* * *

  

5 miles? 10 miles? Charlie wasn’t sure how far she had traveled, but she never lost the trail of the wagon. Her breaths were coming in heavy gasps when she finally spotted them. Charlie couldn’t think of a time she had been so thankful for a full moon. She was easily able to make out the older man sitting at a table keeping watch, the body of the other captor asleep in the grass, and Monroe tied up in an empty pool.

She took in the sight of him. He looked no more disheveled than earlier, which surprised her after the hit he had taken. He actually look...peaceful. His head rested on a pool ladder and seemed to be sleeping. Either that or he still hadn’t regained consciousness from the earlier blow. She couldn’t help the worry that twisted her stomach. Being unconscious for that long couldn’t be a good sign. She tried desperately to pull her eyes away, but he just looked so different in that moment. No anger pulsing through him, no cruel remarks falling from his lips. He normally looks like a mad man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. But there in that pool, he finally looked at ease. Her heart fluttered of its own accord, finally giving her the push to look away. She refused to be some stupid school girl with a crush. Matheson hearts did NOT flutter.

She quietly crept through the trees toward the tied up horses. Careful not to step on the occasional tree branch or dead leaves on the ground. Enough time on the road with Miles had taught her the art of stealth. Being silent and close to invisible was an essential quality the blackout world. Relief swept over her when she saw a wooden plank on the ground. _Well that’s lucky,_ she thought to herself as she retrieved it. Tickling one of the horses under the chin when she reached it, while her right hand gripped her new-found board so tightly it was almost painful. The horse shook his head as she had expected, giving off just enough noise to draw the older man’s attention, but not wake his sleeping co-conspirator.

She slipped back into the shadows of the nearby tree as the old man checked on the horses. She tiptoed up behind him and swung the board as he was turning around. As the plank connected with the it’s target, Charlie felt the resulting vibrations shoot through her muscles and fought the urge to wince and the loud crack of the hit. She instantly reached for the now unconscious man pistol, raising her eyebrows in amusement as she noticed his eyepatch.

Raising the pistol, Charlie snuck past the horses toward the younger man. Keeping her eye on his sleeping form, she neared the edge of the pool just above Monroe. Slowly she dragged her eyes from one sleeping man to the next, assessing Monroe.

She honestly believed that when she arrive at this moment, she would know what to do. Shoot Monroe? Free him? Whack him over the head with a plank of wood? But she still felt conflicted and confused. She moved the pistol to aim at Monroe’s head. Maybe she just needed a minute to process...she could do this.

Sharp, intense pain shot through her shoulder just before she processed the sound of a shotgun going off. Losing her balance, Charlie tumbled over the edge of the pool, falling head first into the empty deep end. She felt, as well as heard, the crack of her skull against the hard plaster sending her mind spinning. As her world began to fade into darkness she could swear she heard someone shouting her name: “Charlotte!”

 

* * *

 

Shock, confusion, and concerned warred with in Sebastian Monroe’s body. “Charlotte! Charlotte!” He screamed for her hoping, praying she would open her eye. The sound of her head slamming against the bottom of the pool echoed in his mind. She needed to wake up and get out of this place. The gunshot... _No,_ His eyes widened in fear, _No, she can’t be..._ He couldn’t see any blood. Had she been shot? Was she the one doing the shooting? Why the hell was she here to begin with?

The younger of his two captors sauntered down the slow of the pool carrying a 12 gauge and instantly Monroe lost what little self-control he possessed. He lurched toward Charlotte’s limp body to quickly be reminded that he was tied up. Still, he struggled and pulled against the ropes trying desperately to get to Charlie, and endless string of curses falling from his lips.

“Calm down, Romeo,” said the younger man, amusement clear in his face, “just a little rock salt.”

Bass swore then and there that he would mess that pretty-boy face up if it was the last thing he did. Monroe practically growled as he watched the punk lift Charlotte’s still form and hold her against his chest before laying her against the wall under the diving board and tying her up. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bass’ voice whisper shook with rage.

“Well,” He started without looking back at Monroe, “based on the way you’re reacting, I’d say she’s not just some random passerby. So I can’t exactly just let her go; she might try to kill you again.” With that last remark he turned to Bass we a cruel grin. Obviously expecting the fact that Charlotte wanted him dead to hurt or surprise him, but this young man was clueless about the Monroe/Matheson history.

Of course Bass wasn’t thrilled that Charlotte wanted him dead, but he certainly understood it, even expected it. All his mistakes had earned her hatred and there was no undoing that. She no doubt blamed him for the death of her father and brother, even if it wasn’t him who pulled the trigger, he could understand that. She probably also blamed him for her mother’s absence for those 8 years, but that he did not agree with. Rachel had left her family to be Miles, plain and simple. She wasn’t a prisoner, at least not in the traditional sense.

Bass was yanked back from his thoughts as a moan escaped Charlotte lips. He began wildly jerking at the ropes around his wrist, desperate to get to her. “What did you do, you son of a bitch?” He bellowed at the man who was still wrapping ropes around charlie’s slender waist.

“Hey! Watched it!” The pretty-boy snapped, “rock salt embedded in your shoulder isn’t exactly pleasant, but she’ll live. Now calm down, or I’m gonna have to knock you out again!”

Bass bit his tongue against the countless comebacks that threaten to spill over. He didn’t care if this idiot took the butt of a gun to his head again, but he didn’t enjoy the thought of escaping to lala land while Charlotte was left alone with said idiot.

After he finished what seemed like a serious overkill on bondage, the man walked back out of the pool and out of sight. Bass semi-relaxed now that the punks hands were no longer on Charlotte. He leaned back against the pool wall and let his eyes slowly roam over the woman to his left. Her curls laid in a mess of tangles around her shoulders and face, a small drop of fresh blood trickling down her forehead, no doubt from her fall into the pool. Those lips, her lips, they were slightly parted with her unconsciousness. He could almost make out the small cracks and lines of her lower lip, chapstick wasn’t exactly a commonly found item in their world, yet still they looked ridiculously soft and kissable. A small voice in his mind scolded him for going there, but he truly believed this would be his very last chance to absorb her beauty, so he ignored the inner rebuke and continued to admire her. In the soft lines of her neck he could make out the pulsing of her jugular, slow and steady; the edges of her collar bones just before they disappeared into her leather jacket; her chest and the start of her cleavage glistening with a thin layer of sweat in the moonlight. She looked like she had spent the past six months fighting her way to him. Exhaustion was evident by the dark circles under her eyes and she obviously had missed a few meals recently if her sunken cheeks were any indication. Even so, she was the perfect example of breathtaking.

He couldn’t deny that her inner strength and stubborn spirit only served to magnify his attraction to her. After everything she had been through she should be mindlessly rocking back and forth in an insane asylum, but no. Not Charlotte. She was scouring all over this messed up world searching for the monster in her nightmares. He only wished that monster wasn’t him. A pain throbbed in his chest as he continued to stare at her. The pain of knowing she would always see him as the evil General Monroe. She would never get to know Bass: the man he had once been.

As the night went on, the moon giving into the nearing sunrise, Bass refused to sleep. If he only had these few hours, he wasn’t going to take his eyes off her. He would watch her breathe and occasionally stir only to wince in pain, her head or shoulder he wasn’t sure. But he would watch over her if only for this one night.


	4. Chapter 4

The sun’s warmth slowly embraced Charlie as she began to stir and blink in confusion at her current predicament. Where was she? Why was her shoulder on fire and her head throbbing?

“Charlotte.” That was the last thing she remembered: a deep voice crying out for her. The voice had been so familiar, but she hadn’t had enough time to identify it before the darkness overtook her. Now, with the sun glaring down upon her, the voice was easy to name. Monroe. She was following Monroe.

“Charlotte,” His voice interrupted her thoughts. It was much quieter now and no longer dripping with fear.

 _Speak of the devil,_ she thought as she warily turned toward his voice. He was tied up just as she had found him last night. His incredibly blue eyes making her chest tighten and goosebumps rise across her skin. His forehead was wrinkled with what she would believe to be concern if he were anyone else. But this was the Great General Monroe. He had no reason to be concerned with a girl tied up in a pool.

Still, his eyes were quickly turning her into a simpleton void of all thought other than his body. How could the ten feet separating them feel so small. She needed out of this place. Fast. His mere presence was suffocating her, causing her breaths to come in quick, shallow spurts making her feel dizzy and lightheaded. She would describe the effort it took to drag her eyes away from him as physically painful. She let her eyes fall to the dip of his v-neck, the sparse curls of chest hair barely visible. _Nope,_ she mentally scolded herself, quickly pulling her eyes from his hardened chest to his forearms. The skin was only exposed for the short distance between his elbows and where his wrist disappeared behind his back. She focus on the small movements of the muscles there. She found herself captivated by the slight tensing and relaxing caused by some unseen movement of his hands.

Bass had managed to crack the pool tile behind him sometime before he had dozed off last night. As he watched Charlotte sleep, he began the slow, torturous process of scratching the concrete away to free the shard. He could already feel the blood caked beneath his short fingernails. Continuing to dig around the tile, his eyes studied Charlotte’s wild-eyed expression. Apparently, simply being in his presence caused her to shake with rage. She looked as though she was struggling to catch her breath and her eyes darted over his body, unable to stay still. The blood that had begun to fall down her forehead during the night had travel all the way down her beautiful face, the thick line ending at the edge of her jaw. He couldn't help but be worried. Head injuries were strange. A person would be fine one minute and dead the next. In their post-blackout world, there was very little to do but sit and wait, but that method would be excruciating for him where Charlotte was concerned. He needed to know she would be alright. Not to mention her jacket was blood soaked at her right shoulder. No telling what her skin looked like underneath.

“Alright,” a voice came from the shallow end of the pool. The pretty-boy kidnapper descended down the slope stirring something in a glass jar. “Listen up,” he spoke to Charlie, “I’m gonna patch you up, but if you try anything cute you’ll get a lot more than a blast of rock salt. Got it?”

Rock salt. That’s why her shoulder felt like it had been torn to shreds. She stared the man down, showing no response to his threat. She braced herself, fighting the urge to head butt him as he came nearer and reached for her shoulder. She couldn’t bite back the moan of pain as the jacket pulled against the dried blood of her skin. She saw Monroe struggle against the ropes that held him back.

“Take it easy, jackass,” He practically growled at the man playing doctor with Charlotte’s shoulder. His blood boiled with every small wince and jerk of pain of Charlie’s body. His fingers ached to wrap around the punk’s scrawny neck and squeeze the life from his worthless body.

Her wannabe-nurse ignored Monroe’s command and continued to plaster the foul salve over her wounds. Unintentionally, her eyes lock on the Monroe’s. He looked to be on the edge of completely losing it. Rage radiated from his entire body. She had no doubt he wanted to kill the man currently touching her, what she didn’t understand was why. Monroe had zero reason to care if Charlie was in pain. Besides, she had suffered far worse over the past year. Her eyes dug at Monroe in confusion, trying to understand his anger. As she watched him, something shifted within him. Some of the tension seemed to ease, and his eyes softened just a little. More confusion swirled in Charlie’s mind and those persistent knots tighten in her stomach again despite the current pain of her shoulder.

She did something to him. What, he didn’t know, but the effect was immediate and strong. His fury dampened down as a  quieter version of concern settled in his chest. As she looked in his eyes, an unusual sense of calm overtook him. The desire to kill the young man shifted to a desire to help and comfort Charlotte. He left his eyes glued to hers, never wavering as the man continued to rub the thick liquid over her injuries. Without meaning to, he let his guard down. His expression softening at her obvious pain. _It’s gonna be okay. It’ll be over soon._ The comforting words echoed in his mind as much to himself as to her - as if she could hear his thoughts.

“So how’d you find Monroe?” The man asked Charlie, interrupting the strangely intense moment they were sharing. She looked at him in surprise. “Yeah, I know who he really is,” he said. A smile she assumed most women found charming spread across his face. “Well don’t talk my ear off.” After she stayed silent he continued, “Yeah, I get why you wanna kill the ass hat, but get in line, everybody does. I mean, the guy dropped the bombs. But we’ve been tracking him for months, so I can’t let you screw it up now. My employers have been very clear about bringing the douche in alive for some reason, otherwise I would of already put a bullet in his head.”

The idiot’s lame attempt to charm Charlotte irked Bass to no end. The poor fool didn't realize that she wasn't just some simple small town girl with a grudge. This was Charlotte Matheson. She may be undeniably gorgeous, but she was tougher than almost any man you would ever meet. She's was brave and fearless and currently driving Bass crazy. Then when Dog: the wannabe bounty hunter, started blabbing about the nukes, Bass felt the pain and rage rush through him, but bit back the urge to correct the imbecile. What was the point? Not like it would make a difference.

Charlie found the bounty hunter’s last comment quite unsettling. She shivered at the mental image of Monroe’s lifeless body bleeding on the ground, a gaping wound in his forehead. “Boy, you sure do love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” She let the insult slide from her lips like honey as she gave him her sweetest smile. She noticed the glimmer of irritation flash across his face. Ignoring the snicker from Monroe, Charlie continued, “You’re even dumber than you look, sweetheart. Which, believe me, makes you seriously dumb.” Monroe’s laughter grew louder as she continue to lay into the man, “You don’t take Sebastian Monroe in alive. He’ll escape, slit your throat, and you’ll be left with nothing. So, good luck with those employers of yours. Hope they don’t mind a bounty hunter coming home empty handed.”

The anger in the man eye’s burn wildly as he roughly shoved a towel against her shoulder and returned her jacket back to it’s original place. She bit her tongue, preventing the cry that threatened to escape her.

“I liked you better when you weren’t talking,” He snapped and stormed out of the pool.

Bass couldn't help the swell of pride that lit up his face. That sharp tongue of hers did not disappoint. She had torn the man's ego to shreds in a matter of seconds, all the while smiling brighter than the sun. “I think you upset our friend,” he remarked.

“Only told him the truth.” The first words she spoke to Monroe, and her face was still froze in the snarky grin. It was incredibly attractive when it wasn’t directed at him, but he had a feeling that he was about to get a much larger portion of what she had served the bounty hunter.

Bass attempted to steel himself for the upcoming verbal lashing he was sure to receive. “What are you doing here, Charlotte?” He asked her quietly.

“Thought that was pretty obvious. I came to put you out of your misery.” Something about tearing the bounty hunter a new one had distracted Charlie from Bass’ pull on her just enough that she suddenly felt up to another verbal sparring. She decided to focus on her words and fight the urge to get lost in his freakishly blue eyes. _Just focus on your anger, Charlie._

Bass felt his adam’s apple bob up and down at her words, but something in her eyes told him it was an empty threat. He had noticed her reaction to the bounty hunter’s comment about putting a bullet in his head. It wasn’t the reaction he had expected from her. It almost appeared that the thought had scared her. He told himself he was only imagining it, but he wasn’t completely convinced. Deciding to change the subject from his own demise, Bass asked her the question that had haunted him for the past six months, “Can I ask you something? You were there that night in the tower when the bombs dropped. It was Randall wasn’t it? He pushed the button?”

Charlie’s face softened just slightly but all she did was nod her head in confirmation.

“I knew it.” Bass cursed under his breath. The guilt and pain washing over him anew. “I walked him through the front door. Might as well pushed the button myself.”

The raw pain of his words almost undid Charlie, but she looked away and forced angry words from her own lips: “I’m sure you’re just torn up with guilt.” The sentence sounded cold and heartless even to her own ears, but Charlie had to stay hard or she would likely fall apart right before Monroe’s eyes.

A small knife twisted in Bass’ gut at her mockery. “You don’t know me, Charlotte,” he replied in a quiet, calm voice, praying she could hear his sincerity. He waited the few seconds it took for her to return those gorgeous eyes of her’s back to him before continuing. “A lot of people depended on me to protect them. What did they get for it? Cooked in their own skin.” His own stomach twisted at his last words, the guilt eating him alive.

“Well, did it ever occur to you that you sucked at your job?” She said without missing a beat.

Bass returned her stare. His eyes betraying the heartbreak he felt. He gave her the most honest answer he could. “Every damn day.”

Charlie had trouble hiding her surprise at his admission. Her lips parted slightly and her eyes softened as she took in his brokenness. She told herself that it was just an act. It had to be. So why couldn’t she convince herself? Why must he look at her like that? It took every ounce of strength not to melt at the look in his eyes. She fought the urge to offer comforting words, which he definitely did not deserve. He was a monster and whether or not he was coming to terms with that fact would have no effect on her. Would it? _Look away, Charlie!_ She seemed to lose the ability to move her own eyeballs, so she did the next best thing and slammed her eyelids shut.

Bass watched in mild amusement and heavy confusion at Charlie’s response, or lack thereof, to his admission. He had been prepared for a tongue lashing, or at the very least, a snarky remark. But she had just stared at him with this bewildered expression and...was that nervousness he saw in her eyes? He saw a flicker of what could only be pain flash across her face, but that made absolutely no sense. Why did she have to be so utterly confusing? All the emotion he sensed flowing through her were causing his heart to race at an unhealthy speed. When she suddenly shut her eyes, he couldn’t help the curious tilt of his head. Without her eyes watching him, he relaxed his head against the ladder and simple took her in. The tension that lined her forehead; the rise and fall of her chest with each deep breath; the whiteness of her knuckles as she squeezed her fists overly tight; her long legs semi relaxed as she leaned against the wall of the pool. Why did she have to wear the tightest jeans left in the world? Like he wasn’t having enough trouble keeping his mind and body in check. He shook his head violently in attempt to clear his thoughts. _Naked granny. Sweaty locker rooms. Miles vomiting in my lap after prom. Miles..._ “Where is he?” Charlotte gave him a confused look at the unexpected question. “Miles,” he clarified, “where are you mom and Miles? Have a falling out?”

Charlie’s eyes rolled at the mention of her mother. That woman drove her absolutely insane and the thought of spending even one more moment watching her twirl her hair had Charlie running as far and as fast as she could. Rachel Matheson: the hostess of the world’s largest pity party. Apparently ending the world and momentarily restarting it so nukes could be deployed for the largest populated territories in the continent meant you got to sit on your behind, stare off into empty space, and twirl your hair. Always with the twirling. Miles had caught Charlie moving to chop off that Rachel's hair once in the middle of the night. He had thrown the scissors across the room and lectured her about being patient and compassionate. _As if either of those qualities could be used to describe Miles,_ She thought, rolling her eyes again. She had packed up and left the next day. She held no resentment against Miles, other than the fact that he coddled Rachel. She just couldn’t stay in that town walking on eggshells any longer.

“Charlotte?”

Monroe’s voice snapped her back to the present. Who knows how long she had vanished into her memories. “No falling out,” she told him, though she wasn’t sure why. “Just needed some space. You know how my mom can be.” The last words slipped out before she could stop them. Any hope she had of Monroe not hearing disappeared with the goofy grin that appeared on his lips.

“She’s certainly a piece of work,” he commented with humor lacing his words.

“Well you _would_ know better than me. You’re the one who kept her prisoner for eight years while her family thought she was dead, right?” Charlie snapped at him.

Bass took her venom without response. No point in telling her the truth. It would only alienate her further. Miles was all Charlie truly had in this world and Bass refused to be the one to take that from her. While running The Republic, Monroe honestly had no thoughts or visions of turning the power back on. He had accepted that their situation was now permanent and never even considered the possibility of seeing an electric world again. That was until Miles had started going on and on about his brother knowing something about the power and why it went off. He wasn’t convinced, but Miles was the General of the militia and Bass never questioned him when he send out warrants for Ben’s arrest. Rachel had been in the dungeon for over a month before Miles had told him. Inwardly, he questioned Mile’s motives for locking Rachel up until he found out that he had been sending Strausser in on a near daily basis. Monroe had strongly considered smacking some sense into Miles, but ultimately his fear had won out. Fear of pushing Miles away and losing the only family he had left. So for four years Bass looked the other way while Miles kept Rachel locked away and tortured as he preemptively prepared the militia for the return of electricity. Bass looked on in wonder as Miles had tanks and helicopters assembled and troops trained in operating the machinery. He was sure his brother had lost his mind. If only he had known...

Charlie’s anger and pain swirled within the pit of her stomach. Those eight years without her mother had created gaping wounds inside of Charlie’s soul. Once she found her mother alive and quite well in Philadelphia her world had come crashing down upon her yet again. She had instinctively laid all the blame at Monroe’s feet, but the more time she spent around Rachel the more confused she became. She understood that she was supposed to love and adore her mother, yet as she watched Rachel the more she grew to dislike her. Charlie loved her mother. She must. She certainly didn’t want her dead or hurt. But at the end of the day, Charlie would much rather be alone than in her mother’s company. Maybe those eight years apart had simply caused too much damage. Maybe that was just one more reason to hate Monroe.

Monroe. She watched as he sunk further against the pool wall and ladder, lost in own thoughts. The sadness in his eyes tore at her heart, scratched at her defenses like only he could. She angled her body away from him and lowered her eyelids. If she had to be stationary she should at least use it as an opportunity to rest. Besides, watching Monroe did nothing but send her into a swirling vortex of confusing, conflicting emotions. Sleep was a much better option.

Bass watched as Charlotte’s breathing evened out and she drifted off. Eventually her head rotated back in his direction, relaxing against the wall. The movement and hushed conversation between their kidnappers indicated it wouldn’t be long till they were on the move again. Bass tried to put all of his effort into removing the last of the barrier preventing him from freeing the tile shard, but kept finding himself distracted by Charlie’s soft breaths that moved her chest up and down slowly. He took the building sexual frustration out on the pool tile with a sudden, forceful jerk. The shard broke off into his palm, warm liquid pooling as the jagged edges slit his skin. _Worth it_ , he smiled. Now all he needed to do was watch her sleep, only one word bouncing around his mind, _perfect_ . Charlotte Matheson was _perfect_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay! This chapter gave me a bit more trouble. It was one of the scenes that I was less certain about and it took me a while to work out my thoughts. With this story so far, I have stayed close to the plot of the actual show, but this chapter deviates slightly. Hope you enjoy!!

Dusk arrived and with it brought shades of pink and orange to light the western sky. A soft breeze had picked up through the trees and it made Charlotte’s hair dance about her face as she slept peacefully. The weight in Bass’ chest grew heavier with each passing moment. He knew at any second the bounty hunter duo would escort him away and chances were high that he would never lay eyes on Charlotte Matheson again.  _ It’s for the best _ , he told himself,  _ nothing good can come from falling for a woman you can never have _ . He wasn’t quite ready to label himself as “fallen”, but he was definitely captivated by Charlotte. She warmed a part of his soul he had long thought dead and that fact terrified him. Something about her stubborn fearlessness called to him. Her quick wit, her undeniable beauty, it all pulled at him like his own personal gravitational force. Being in her presence, while exhilarating, was dangerous. 

As if on cue, the flirtatious kidnapper sauntered back into the pool. He nodded his head to someone unseen above and Bass felt his ropes being untied. The older man started talking in some foreign language, Russian perhaps, and tugging on Bass’ ropes to lead him out of the pool. Monroe resisted the pulls and faced the younger man, “What are you gonna do to her?”

Charlie began to stir at someone yelling in what sounded like gibberish. Taking in her surroundings, she found had slept for a good while and the bounty hunters were ready to get moving. She stayed silent as Monroe asked what would happen to her. The strange protectiveness in his voice warmed her against the cool winds. She wasn’t worried about Tweedledee and tweedle-eye-patch. If they had intended to kill her she would have been dead long ago, she just prayed they didn’t leave her tied up.

The bounty hunter looked between the two hostages, utterly confused by the dynamics of their relationship, but decided it ultimately didn’t concern him. “You,” he addressed Charlie, “are a complete pain in the ass, but I don’t like killing, not unless I have to.” He slit one of the ropes at her wrists and turned to Monroe, “now start walking.”

Bass locked eyes with Charlotte one last time, taking in as much of her as he could in the quick seconds before the young man shoved him toward the shallow end. He told himself not to look back as they loaded him into the cage on the wagon, but his body acted without his permission. He looked into her blue eyes once more as the door was slammed shut. That was it. He would never see her again and it felt like a knife to the gut. So many loose ends and unanswered questions to haunt his dreams. But as always, she would be present in those dreams and that was an ending he could accept. Not as if he actually had a choice, but Dream Charlotte was far better than no Charlotte. The wagon lurched into motion and he watched as her form grew smaller and smaller in the distance.

Charlie stood frozen in place as the wagon pulled away. Monroe’s eyes held hers, unwavering as they disappeared past the forest to the east. Her heart beat so fast she felt it might actually burst within her chest.  _ Why does he have to do that?  _ His eyes tear at all of her defenses leaving her raw, emotional, and unstable.  _ Why can’t he look at me like any other normal human being? Hell, why does he have to look at me at all?  _ Sebastian Monroe looked at her as if she was the last source of oxygen and he suffocating.

Finally coming to her senses, she went to work freeing herself from the entanglement of ropes wrapped around her waist and arms. She found herself once again taking off into unknown territory, chasing after a wagon without a plan.

* * *

 

Bass’ struggle against his restraints was short lived as the broken tile worked through the ropes surprisingly fast. He moved as quietly as possible to escape without his kidnappers noticing. But of course, as he wiggled the latch free, the wagon hit a bump causing the door to swing out of his grasp and loudly collide with the cage. He didn’t hesitate another moment before barreling out onto the dirt road and taking off into the darkness of the forest. The two men were not far behind, but unfortunately for them, they lacked any manner of stealth. They quite obviously, and loudly, took off in separate directions, thereby allowing him to take them on one-on-one. Hidden behind a tree, he waited as one of them neared his spot before striking out. He knocked the revolver to the ground with his first blow before quickly placing the stunned man with an eye patch into a choke hold. As far as killing goes, choking someone to death was one of Bass’ least preferred methods. It simply took too long for his liking. He much preferred a simple one-shot kill to cutting off a man’s airway as he struggled, waiting for the life to leave his body. Gripping the side of the man’s head, he thrust his arms in opposite directions instantly breaking the man’s neck.

He had no sooner dropped the lifeless body to the leaf covered ground before he heard a voice crying out in terror, “You killed him!” The younger man’s fist connected with Bass’ jaw forcefully, knocking him off balance. He took a knee to the gut before regaining his footing and throwing a punch into the man’s chin, knocking him unconscious.  _ Well that was easier than expected. _ He took a few calming breaths only to be caught completely off guard by a metal pipe connecting with his right cheek.

* * *

 

Charlie discovered the abandoned wagon only a couple miles from the pool.  _ Two miles,  _ she said to herself, _ the idiot made it two miles whole miles.  _ She couldn’t help but roll her eyes in exasperation. The cocky bounty hunter had been so sure of himself that he refused to listen to her and now he had lost Monroe and was more than likely dead. She closed her eyes and focused on listening to the surrounding woods. A distant scuffle sent her dashing through the trees to the right. Charlie found a small pipe abandoned on the forest floor near the body of the fella with an eye-patch. She lifted it from the ground and silently watched as Monroe and the younger bounty hunter fought. It was all short lived as the man fell back, clearly unconscious.

Charlie fought for clarity as she studied Monroe from behind. She hadn’t been able to pull the trigger in New Vegas, but she’d be damned if she couldn’t wail on the monster for a moment or two.  _ Danny _ . She focused on the memory Danny’s body, riddled with bullet holes, lying lifeless in her arms. Charlie suddenly saw red as fury pulsated through her limbs. She hadn’t even consciously decided to attack, but before she knew it, she was swinging the pipe violently in Monroe’s direction. She could barely even feel her weapon connecting as she swung right then left then right again. All her pain came out in a feral scream as she mercilessly beat the source of her misery.

Bass spun to face his opponent after the first unexpected blow, only to be hit again and again.  _ Charlotte. _ He began backing away from her attack, moving his hands in an attempt to block her blows. A torturous cry escaped her lips as the pipe came down on him once more. “Charlotte,” he tried, “Stop it, Charlotte!” Her rage was unchecked as she swung the pipe without pause. “Charlotte, please!” He desperately didn’t want to hurt her, but he was running out of options. There was no telling how long he had before the bounty hunter awoke and he refused to deal with both of them at once. It would be too difficult attempting to hurt/kill one while allowing the other to beat on him. He timed his strike perfectly, fist connecting with her cheek while she was in mid swing. He then reached out just in time to catch her crumpling body.

This was the very first time Bass had had the privilege of touching Charlotte Matheson, and it was because he had knocked her unconscious. Guilt and nausea tore at him as he gently swept her hair from her face. The bruise and swelling would be significant. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. He allowed his thumb to trace the line of her jaw, admiring the fullness of her pink lips.  _ Beautiful. _

A stirring in the grass behind them brought Bass back to his senses. He quickly lifted Charlotte fully into his arms, holding her a little tighter than necessary against his chest, and took off for the wagon they had left on the road.

After a short juggling act of balancing Charlotte in his arms and climbing up onto the wagon’s bench, Bass settled into the seat and reached for the reins. He made the selfish choice to leave Charlotte curled up in his lap, leaning her head on his shoulder. With one arm wrapped snugly around her waist, he flicked the reins with the other and called out to the horses who took off at an impressive pace. As they drove off into the darkness, Bass squeezed Charlotte just a little nearer, reveling in the feel of her against him. He knew he would be in for a hell of a fight when she awoke, but for now, he couldn’t help but enjoy holding her close.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Loves! Thank you so very much for taking the time to read some of my work! So this is my very first post on AO3 and I'm so excited that it's Charloe! My love/obsession with this pair is ridiculous and I am so happy that I have the opportunity to give them a new story. Please feel free to leave ideas, suggestions, and critiques! I love getting feedback! This story is going to be longer, so please be patient with me as I find a way to put all my thoughts and story lines into actually words.  
> Love Lace


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